Snap Shots
by jemisard
Summary: Five back stories of Shatterstar's past. Starting in the pens of his homeworld leading to the point where he left Rictor in Mexico. Spoilers, slash.


1. He can't move from where he lies, watching his blood spread across the concrete floor in front of him.

He can feel the painful re-knitting of bones broken with swift efficiency. He blinks and even that hurts, pulling the tendons of his jaw that have have been neatly sliced through, effectively stopping him from biting at his attackers.

There were eight of them. All older. All veterans with hollow, fear filled eyes that stared at him as they advanced.

He fought back as best he could but he simply wasn't strong enough to defend himself. Not without his blades. And now he will spend tonight lying here, watching the crimson blood coagulate under his face, feeling the agony of muscle and bone and organs fixing themselves before tomorrow's tournament.

Tonight he is broken, defeated and defiled.

Tomorrow, his blades will sing and he will have his vengeance.

They will have cause for their fear.

2. He hates the feel of their hands on him, soft and uncalloused like his own, cold with the gold paints that the Spineless Ones say look 'glorious' against his pale skin and bright red hair.

He is grateful when they stop and instead the collar is clamped around his neck. He holds back the snarl and wants to rip the pins and diametes from his hair, leaving it unbound and wild instead of in these stupidly complicated and intricate weaves they put it into on these nights.

He follows his keeper out into the hall, watching the hand with the chain in it. He hears the catcalls, the murmurs of appreciation. Hands grab at him, a fat body pressing close and an evilly long tongue snakes across one shoulder.

The chain is snapped around the pole he is assigned. He can see another near him, a beautifully hued insectoid with wide eyes. It's her first time, he can see the revulsion in all four of her eyes.

The spotlight comes up and he begins to dance, head held high. They can have his body. They will not take his dignity.

3. The most incredible thing he ever saw was the night sky. Dark like he'd never seen before in his life, cold and so very far away he didn't think he could reach it no matter how high he climbed.

The moons had hung above him and he had stood there, staring up at the thousands, no, millions of twinkling lights that looks like diamonds against the blue velvet of the sky. Not like diamonds, diamonds needed light to sparkle and these were bright under their own power – strong and weak and there were millions of them, far above the nightmares of the studio. Even the stench of the processing plant below him couldn't detract from this moment.

He had pushed through the gap in the roofing panels, clambered onto the peak of the roof and reached his hands up to the night sky.

Something had bubbled in his chest, like victory but without the blood and the slaughter.

4. Shatterstar still blamed himself for Ric's decision to leave. Ric said it was because of Cable but he knew better. He knew it was because they had sex the night before. That day, after training, when the showers were empty and he had seen Ric touching himself he had gone over and kissed him on the neck, like he had done before they had sex.

Ric had pulled away and told him it was wrong and then he had left. Left the team. Left Shatterstar.

He came back, came back and told Star he loved him and pressed a kiss to his forehead and then... everything had gone wrong.

As he lies dying in Cable's arms, feeling his blood gushing from the massive internal injuries he has, all he can think it that he would have liked to have seen Ric once more. Seen him like he had been that night, happy and untroubled, face glowing and eyes bright. He wants to feel what that short hair would be like between his fingers.

He smiles at the thought, lets his eyes fall shut and hears nothing. Just sees Ric smile at him uncertainly and slips away into death's waiting arms.

5. The dry heat of Mexico suits him. It is still cooler than the stage lights of his world, and that is all that matters to him.

Julio sleeps next to him, curled into his body. Gaveedra combs his hair back off his face, watches his face settle into peaceful slumber again. Such a small thing and it makes his lover's sleep so much easier.

Gaveedra hasn't slept properly for over a year now. Not since Mojo. Not since Benjamin Russell barged into his life and shattered everything he knew about himself.

Not Mojoworlder. Not in body. Not human. Not in his mind. He doesn't belong anywhere, always feels like a stranger, like an outsider.

He's a Mojoworlder with compassion and grief. He's a human with no clue of humanity. He's nothing outside of moments like these, when Julio clings to him in his sleep and his very presence makes his lover sleep better.

He feels like he's worthless with Julio and that scares him. He has stared the masters in the eye while feeling them paw at him. He's survived gang assault after gang assault in the pens for years and come through stronger for his suffering.

His human side is breaking him and his other side can offer no help, no resistance. He's becoming dependant on Julio for his own self worth and he hates it. Hates himself for it.

He needs to find out who he is before he lets himself be swallowed entirely by his drive to please his lover.

He wraps himself around Julio and buries his face in his hair. Tomorrow, he has to stop this before it breaks them both.

But tonight, he can allow himself one last night in the arms of the only thing that matters to him.


End file.
